


I'm Still Here

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Nostalgia, Photo prompt, Prompt Fill, Romance, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: There was only one possession Une desired after Treize's death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small ficlet based off of a photo prompt on Tumblr. Hope you like it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own GW, its characters, or this photo. Please don't sue me.

When Treize died, his personal effects were divvied out among his surviving extended family and the rest was donated to various charities. There was only one thing Une wanted and she vehemently wrestled the old phonograph out of the volunteer’s arms as he attempted to carry it to the large box van that had been backed up to the front door of Treize’s estate. **  
**

“You can take everything else,” Une hissed. “But this, this is mine.” She yanked the record player out of his arms and took it to her car, gently placing it on the passenger seat.

No plans were made for Saturday mornings. Saturday mornings were reserved to witness the sun breaking through the horizon, its life-giving yellow and orange hues streaming warmth between the branches of ancient oaks and catching the drops of dew that still clung to the leaves like glittering diamonds.

The park was deserted at this hour. Her only companions were the rousing early birds and a heart consumed with regret. Regret that it had ended this way. Regret that she never got the chance to tell him all the things she wanted to say.

She’d been privy to sharing Saturday mornings with Treize. Those ungodly hours before dawn when no one in their right mind would deem to leave the warmth of their beds. Not much was ever said. It didn’t need to be. They understood each other in ways so profound, the kind of spiritual familiarity that poets and lyricists of ancient millennia composed their lamentations of true love. The starcrossed lovers. The soulmates. Intricately entwined in the timeless dance of devotion immortalized.

Despite the technology of the day, Treize, stubborn as a mule, refused to do away with the vintage phonograph he’d had since he was a child. It was a god awful, gaudy thing and it could never produce the kind of crisp, clean sound of the digital age. Still, it seemed more fitting for such an intimate setting. Nostalgic. From an era when life was simpler. When there were no colonies in space orbiting its mother host. When space travel itself was just being discovered by the human race.

It was a soft, scratchy, static-laced sound, strangely perfect when accompanied by the deep colors of the sky at the birth of a new day. Treize would play When I’m Sixty Four at least a dozen times before the sun was high enough to kiss the tree tops, humming along to the melancholic melody as they watched the sun rise through the two story window of his private study.

It was…almost euphoric, especially considering they were in the thick of war. It was a slice of reality suspended in time, long enough for them to partake in this peaceful lull in violence, bloodshed, and death.

Those days were long gone, but Une would keep those moments alive until the last breath left her body. She gently placed the needle on the edge of the spinning vinyl and listened to the crackle, amplified by the tiny speaker embedded in the side and then closed her eyes, allowing herself to just feel. Feel the breeze, chilled by the long hours of night and the faint heat as the rays of sunlight spread across her skin, filtered by the surrounding oaks. And then Treize’s song began to play.

The birds seemed to grieve right along with her, their usual cheerful chirps slow, drawn out in mournful tones. She could never part with this ridiculous pre-colony contraption, not even if she wanted to. It represented such a significant, precious part of her life that she could not bear to part with. To give Treize’s most prized possession to some stranger who would probably never love, appreciate, or care for it as much as she, would be criminal. As long as she had the phonograph, she could hold onto a piece of the man she loved. And not just any piece. The piece that represented all that was good and pure in him. The innocence that had long been corrupted by politics, greed, evil. This was the part of Treize that had never been sullied.

Perhaps it was the breeze, she couldn’t be sure, but a brush against her cheekbone caused her breath to hitch in her throat. It could have been anything. A stray leaf, her imagination, but somehow she knew deep down, it was something more. What felt like the caress of her love’s knuckle across her skin and she damned well knew better than to doubt it. To do so would be to deny the presence of the one she’d sworn her heart, life, and soul to.

She didn’t dare open her eyes. She didn’t need to. Her heart was open and that was enough. There was one last ghost of a touch across her face before it disappeared like an elusive wisp of smoke, but that voice, that soft, velvety voice that was unmistakably Treize, whispered against her ear and then was carried off by the gentle east blowing winds. In that moment, with that promise, she realized no matter how dark her days, or how lonely her nights, she had never been, or would ever be alone.


End file.
